Somehow, Sometime
by starlight2005
Summary: It doesn’t happen in an instant. It’s a slow, gradual process that drives you crazy and the thing is, you will always think about him even though you’re not supposed to. D/C


**Title: Somehow, Sometime**

**Author: hideme09**

**Pairing: Dean/Cas **

**Rating: NC-17 (eventually) **

**Warning: slight spoilers for S4 **

**Summary: It doesn't happen in an instant. It's a slow, gradual process that drives you crazy and the thing is, you will always think about him even though you're not supposed to. **

**A/N: I think it's better if you read **_**If I Can Fall **_**first. This is a continuation of sorts… and is probably multi-chaptered. Tell me if you want it that way, though, 'kay? **

~*~*~*~*~

When Dean said with utmost choked finality that they were over—whatever they shared, may be—Castiel remembers feeling an incredible sense of loss. Theoretically, it's as worse as losing the connection he has with the Host. In reality, it's even more painful. In that 'sanctuary', where they prevented him to save his brother and actually stop the Apocalypse from happening, Castiel remembers Dean slipping from him, breaking any ties with him. And he couldn't do anything about it. His powerlessness scared him. The mre thought now even paralyzes him.

It's a feeling that he doesn't want to feel ever again.

Dean Winchester is, any way he looks at it, a paradox and Castiel, with all his unearthly knowledge and power, cannot truly understand him. Doesn't understand the compassion the man feels even to the lowliest of human beings; to the cruel, inconsiderate men. He cannot even begin to comprehend why such a violent world, full of hate and discrimination, would be so worthy of being saved. Dean is a man who has seen nightmares come true, watched his family get killed one after the other as he stood in the sidelines, and literally went to hell. For someone whose life is such a tragedy, Castiel would expect that he would come back calloused and hardened by life.

But of course, Dean always has to prove him wrong.

Has to show that even in chaos, this world could be beautiful. Has to prove that human beings don't deserve to be pawns in a cosmic chess game, where either way they die anyway. And what's problematic is the fact that after all these, Dean teaches him to care and doubt.

Angels don't doubt. Disobedience leads to falling. _And yet..._

What Dean doesn't realize is, for someone who has so great of a potential, he fails to see his power over Castiel. Doesn't even begin to see how his decisions affect the angel. Quite frustratingly, when Cas is torn between obeying like the soldier that he is and following what he thinks should be right, Dean doesn't see the trouble the angel is burying himself in because of the man. The trouble that he invites willingly.

With all these, still Castiel doesn't know why he's watching beside the Impala and guarding Dean Winchester.

He's supposed to be hiding. Running. Looking for a place that Heaven won't find because it's his head on the plate when that happens. It's him who's being hunted this time and he should be going somewhere safe. Castiel doesn't, though. Unfortunately, when he was created by the Father, he wasn't given any survival instincts, Dean would say. The thing is, somehow he needs to stay. Somehow he needs to make sure Dean's okay.

"Damn it, Sam, I told you I'm fine!" Castiel jumps. Dean's voice is loud and angry as the hunter storms off, slams the door shut and heads to his car. Is most likely headed to a bar down the block to get drunk. Startled as he is, Cas doesn't vanish as soon as he wants to and has to step back when Dean sees him. Catches him.

"Cas!"

Suddenly, Dean's elated. Like he's receiving the best present in the world and Castiel doesn't understand why that is. So he tilts his head—can't break habit, after all—and stares back in trademark confusion. But Dean doesn't explain. Doesn't have the patience; never had the patience. He approaches him, instead. Grinning and looks relieved, slightly amazed that the angel is here. In front of him.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be... I don't know, away?" Dean asks, his hand makes wild, silly gestures; blatant and natural. Dean-like. When Dean realizes what he just said, he blushes and shakes his head. "Not that I don't like you being here, man. Need all the help I can get, right? Sammy and I... we can't handle everything by ourselves, you know. But isn't Heaven supposed to be running after you or something?"

_You're in danger here_, is what Dean's trying to say through his rambling and Castiel chuckles at the thought. Finds the idea that Dean rambles to be quite adorable. Very un-Deanlike.

"Huh?" Dean responds eloquently. Clearly doesn't understand why the angel is snickering to himself. "No, seriously, shouldn't you be hiding?"

Castiel doesn't reply that he's worried. That would only irritate the man. But he makes sure he confronts this problem anyway. The silence that follows after Dean's question is deafening. Awkward, to say the least and Castiel thinks he should answer. Then again, there are more important issues at hand, aren't there? And looking at Dean's pale complexion and red-rimmed eyes, the weariness that his body language is carelessly falling into…

Because it's in Dean's very nature to worry about people more than he'd ever want to worry about himself, he doesn't bring up anything similar to his not sleeping and his constant bouts of nightmares. Dean doesn't have to tell Castiel, really. Castiel knows. He always does, so instead of answering, he deflects. Just as Dean is very good in doing.

He's learning, isn't he?

"You haven't been sleeping," he points out and Dean stares then shrugs. So Castiel prods. "Are they the same nightmares?"

_Do you still dream of Hell? _

"No."

"Then what is it?"

"Unicorns and lollipops," the hunter fends off. Wants him not to know because it's his issue. It's his mess.

If there's one thing Castiel learned from the man, it's that in some instances he should be very, very persistent.

"Dean..." Castiel warns, lets Dean know that eventually he will know and he will use any means necessary to find out. "Is it Hell?"

"No," Dean answers truthfully. He whispers it and tries very hard not to bow his head. He shrugs but it's clear in his eyes, as if the mere confession is the worst act of humiliation a person could ever feel.

"Dean." Cas is, at his best, perplexed and worried at the same time. Doesn't like that Dean's behaving like this, hiding as if whatever his nightmares is about, is shameful. He grasps Dean's chin softly. Refuses to risk the trust Dean has on him just by that. (Dean doesn't allow human contact. Unless he wills it.) "What were you dreaming about?"

Surprisingly, Dean laughs. Bitter, pained. Hysterical. He looks at Castiel.

"I'm going nuts, Cas. All I dream of is you," he admits and he's laughing again. Is at his wits' end and Castiel still doesn't understand. Head stuck on the confession. On the fact that Dean is dreaming of him. What is going on? _Then _Dean gets it. That Castiel doesn't understand, so he tries again. "_You_. You die every fucking time! I can't even do anything!"

_Oh. _

"I'm sorry," Castiel automatically says because he should know what to do, shouldn't he? Should have been there to have done something? He feels horrible for causing Dean's misery and it's something that must have shown on his face because instantly, the hunter reacts.

Dean shakes his head and begins to move. Run away. Castiel doesn't want him to and he's acting out before he even thinks about it. Has his hand on Dean's arm before Dean can do anything about it.

"Why did you kiss me?" Dean questions. Thinks that two can play at this game. Thinks that he has an entire night to deflect and interrogate at the same time.

"It's of no importance," Castiel shrugs him off.

"Bull. Come on, Cas. Why'd you kiss me?"

Castiel sighs and steps back. Has to, because he doesn't want to answer that. Doesn't want to explain that at that time, all he ever thought was that there's no way he'd ever get through without Heaven catching him. That he'll never have the chance to tell Dean that he loves him. That he cares for the man truthfully.

Now, the thing is, it's not like he imagined he'd be here right now, right?

"I'm sorry, Dean," he says. Dean stares at him and he smiles sadly, patting Dean's cheek lightly before disappearing.

When Dean, expectedly, curses at his "damn angel vanishing powers", Castiel tries very hard not to look back as he flies off and readies to aid in stopping Lucifer. Back to work. He has a job to do. Wouldn't Dean say that?

_Dean again…_

It's always about Dean now, isn't it?

~*~*~*~*~

The thing is, Dean really should have expected the nightmares to return. The same night Cas evades the question—yet again—Dean returns late and falls asleep. Sam doesn't notice, has long gone to bed. Anyway, the point is, it's all screams and flashes of red and the phantom feeling of chains and knives carving into his skin that grabs his attention as he succumbs to dreamland. It's the same pleas for mercy and the same sadistic laughter that echoes in his head, and he sees Hell vividly, in all its horror. Just as he remembers it. When Dean wakes up, he bathes in cold sweat and he shudders. Feels like crying out or drowning himself with alcohol.

He doesn't, though. These days, it's not about the alcohol and getting drunk. Wouldn't be fun to fight demons and all that half-assed drunk, would it?

On the second night, Dean dreams of Alastair carving strange symbols on his body using the bluntest knife he had.

On the fifth night, Dean sees the balding, perverted man who, when he was alive, molested 5-year old boys and got off by their cries. He doesn't remember feeling righteous as he slices and tears the man's limbs off his body in Hell, but Dean remembers the sadistic satisfaction course through his veins as he successfully tortures this soul, a long, unending chant of _'inflict pain'_ fresh in mind.

On the sixth night, he starts dreaming of _Castiel _on the rack again. Of Castiel being carved, sliced, raped, mutilated, punished—tortured and Dean starts throwing up after this dream.

Starting on the seventh night, Dean stops sleeping…

… and it's seriously driving him nuts.

"Dean, man, are you sure you're alright?"

Dean glowers and ignores his brother. He focuses on the gun he's cleaning. Finds the automatic motions of _push, slide, clean_, _oil_, relaxing. The entire process is purely mechanical and it distracts him from Sam's persistent questions. It's been two weeks now since he last saw Castiel and he's worried. Not even thinking about Castiel and his Evading Powers of Doom (yes, he thinks Cas' power to run away from questions deserve capital letters, so shut it). He wonders if Zachariah finally caught up with the renegade angel and gave him his just punishment.

No, no, Dean, hush.

Positive thoughts, remember?

Right.

Where'd Cas go anyway?

A book falling noisily on the table and a shout interrupts thereafter:

"DEAN!"

Dean snaps out of his trance and realizes his phone is ringing. Has been ringing for eons unnoticed. It's Bobby. To call them at this hour, so late… Huh. The hunter grimaces. There's no way Bobby's calling to just check on them. But he answers the phone anyway and pretends everything's a-okay because he's Dean and that's what he do. Deflect.

"Hey Bobby," he greets and for the first time, he realizes how scraped off his voice sounds like. Raw, like he's been shouting his voice hoarse for days when on the contrary, he hasn't really spoken that much. Except when Sam's bitching again. He finds Sam's bitchiness absolutely amusing _and _annoying, so what? Bobby doesn't seem to mind, though. The state his voice is, he means. His greeting catches Sam's attention, though, and before he knows it, his brother's already leaning in, obviously very much interested.

"Dean, you _idjit_. Answer the damn phone when I call," Bobby reprimands. "Listen, you get here as fast as you can, understand? No pit stops, if you can."

The panic in Bobby's voice tips Dean off and he frowns. Recognizes the symptoms and there's no way this order can be any good. Without thinking, Dean stands up as if a war's brewing outside their motel room and he's ready to jump in, in his weaponless and sleep-deprived state.

In that instant, Sam asks for the phone. Dean doesn't give it to him. Honestly doesn't hear him so Sam asks loudly instead and makes sure Bobby hears him. "What's wrong, Bobby?" Sam questions.

"There's a wounded angel in my living room and he just—oh crap, lost consciousness. Dean, Sam, you better get here!" And that's the end of the phone call. Dean hears the sound of something—someone collapsing and Bobby's instantaneous reaction to that before he looks at Sam, mind decided.

"Pack up. We leave in five," he orders. Doesn't care if he's ignoring the question that's blatant in Sam's eyes because there's a huge probability that the angel happens to be Cas and if Cas is wounded, then it's even more bad news. Sam surprisingly doesn't bitch about it anymore. Apparently understands him now and despite their misunderstandings in the past, he knows full well when to just shut up and start following.

As expected, though, Sam attempts to interrogate him with a half-asleep prophet at the backseat (Chuck, don't drool on my baby, dammit!") and him driving at top speed.

"You know, what if that wasn't Bobby?" Sam asks, at this time is being logical and thinks of tricks that the demons may have instigated just to get them out in the open. Demons have the tendency to do that, Dean thinks idly as he overtakes a small truck and continues to drive silently. He doesn't answer back because his brother is _apparently _in his 'it's-a-trap-don't-you-see' state.

Finally—eventually, Sam gets annoyed and snaps at Dean.

"What? Dude, you heard him. You heard someone in the background falling, too. How can that not be Bobby?" Dean questions. There's a nagging voice at the back of his head that's saying his explanation isn't in any way logical. Hasty generalization and all that, but come on, seriously, this isn't the time. Now, how to make a stubborn brother see that? He glances at the mirror and is satisfied that Chuck is still asleep. Oh, thank God for small miracles…

"It's not a trap."

Dean jolts at the new voice and swerves, luckily missing the van that just passed by as he drove straight to the other lane. He glares at the red-haired angel beside Chuck and punches on the horn.

"Don't you angels ever learn how to call or something? Seriously! Don't do that!"

Anna, former ex-angel, smiles softly at the remark before shaking her head. No. Obviously. Her attention, though, is focused on Dean's brother and her next words are directed at him.

"Castiel was wounded. Zachariah almost got him," Anna reports.

"_Cas_? He isn't going to die, is he? Is he?" Dean responds quickly. Still three hours at least before they get there. Damn it. There has to be a faster way to get to Bobby's. Don't think of him dying!

"No, Dean. He will not die. He does, however, need to recuperate… and stay undetected for a while."

"He can stay with us."

"He can?" Sam asks his brother who just stares at him and it's all there. The 'I'm older so I make the decisions and you better listen if you don't want me to kick your ass' and the 'please Sammy'. "We won't let them get him, we promise."

Anna is relieved, to describe at best before she turns to the other hunter.

"Don't worry. He will answer your questions. Just give him time, he's learning."

If angels were cartoons, Dean swore he'd have heard a 'poof!' right now. Anna is in an instant gone and really, he isn't surprised at all.

Two hours and thirty-two minutes later—not that Dean was counting or anything—they reach the Salvage Yard and the sight should comfort them because it's Bobby's place and they were always tad safer with the old man. In this place. But right now, Dean's shaking in nervous energy and all he really wants to do is see for himself that the angel is here. Wounded, but okay, as Anna said. And he doesn't know why, can't explain the reason behind his concern so he thinks it's because Cas is a friend and he'd feel bad if anything happened to the guy… err, angel when it's all Dean's fault.

They don't knock. Bobby knows they're coming and he's at the door as soon as the Impala's engine dies down. He greets them with a frown and indicates the living room but makes sure to hand them two bottles of beer (with holy water, of course).

"What happened?" Sam asks. He isn't as worried as Dean is but the concern's still there. Still the same Sammy who thinks he should be sympathetic with all sorts of problems, regardless of race, gender—eh, creature. Being. Whatever.

"Don't know, he just popped in then collapsed. Hasn't really spoken," Bobby replies before he directs them to the room. "Sam, I need to talk to you about something," he tells the younger Winchester and signals the study. It's another room, far enough so Dean won't overhear and stocked with enough books to drive a non-hunter insane.

"Okay, Bobby."

They leave Dean with the unconscious angel and the next few words from Bobby's lips make Sam stop and grimace.

"He's in trouble," the older hunter says.

Sam's only question is, who? Dean or Castiel? He repeats it out loud for Bobby's sake and the man sighs.

"Dean. And his angel, I figure."

"What do you mean?"

"That angel of his is in Heaven's most wanted list, Sam. And Dean? Heaven wants him, whether he likes it or not."

Sam grimaces.

_Oh crap. _

~*~*~*~*~

Dean worries and it's enough for everyone to know. The way he's pacing then stopping to look at Castiel, before pacing again and grumbling under his breath. It must be the coffee. Too much caffeine for the nerves, you know? Anyway, regardless if it's the coffee or not, Castiel hasn't woken up, has a patched-up wound (thanks, Bobby) and Dean is very, very worried.

The Salvage Yard is exactly how Dean remembers it, he notices. Cars, metal, the smell of rust, dogs and home. There were memories of planning the Yellow Eyed Demon's—no, Azazel's—demise and following his trail, of reviving Sam and all that ceaseless 'protect Sammy' chant in his head, of hide and seek when Sam was too young to question how they were brought up and recently, Apocalyptic seals…

Before, things were simpler. Black and white. Demons were bad. They're killed without question. Angels, assuming they exist, were good and uptight; watched over little children and kept them from harm. Then, good fought with evil because there were values that the good side upheld. Because they were intrinsically _good_, damn it and nothing was supposed to change that. The Winchesters fought as one team, in one team; was a family all throughout and they did not blur the lines. Did not dwell in the gray areas. Never. Nuh-uh.

Finally Sam drifted away, wanted a normal life.

(Eventually, attempts to be normal backfired and now he's running with a power that scares Dean to the core and a deep anger for anything Lilith-related that it blinds him.)

Dean wanted to be better. To save people.

And the Winchesters were divided. There's only so much a family can take and apparently, a stronghold doesn't break from the outside. It crumbles from within, breaking the foundations, eating through carefully laid out tradition and nature. Then Dean went to hell, was saved by an angel and things started to mess up. Royally. Obviously the Apocalypse is a chess game, Dean jumpstarted it and now they're all stuck as pawns waiting to be sacrificed. _Now, _Lucifer is out and the world's in a jumble. Now, he still can't get over the fact that his brother turned away from him when all his life, Dean only had Sam to depend on. Damn it, Sammy; and he can't get over it. How much it hurts.

Still—still, amidst the mess that they started, that they find themselves in, all that Dean really wants to happen right now is to see Castiel open his eyes and regain consciousness.

Wearily, Dean plops on the chair and buries his face in his hands. This is his fault.

TBC


End file.
